Captured!
by fourthelement
Summary: Iggy finds himself locked up in a dungeon after distracting the Erasers so Max and the others could escape. Except that he's not alone... Rated T for language and just in case.
1. A Prisoner in the MiniDungeon Thing

**Author's Note: This was inspired by parts of Hitawari-Angel-15's fic, MR Bloodlust 2: Queen of Hearts. You don't have to read that for this to make sense, but any self-respecting Fax shipper will have already read it, and if you haven't, you should.**

**And if you have read it and think, WTF – how did you get this story from Queen of Hearts? You may want to ask me. Or go read it, review, and ask CK yourself. I did mention it to her.**

**Also: This is a sort-of sequel to one of my other MR fanfics, _Blind_. You don't have to read that, either, but it's certainly preferable. But you'll understand Iggy's first-chapter melancholy if you do.**

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Chapter One: A Prisoner in the Mini-Dungeon. Thing.

_Real bright, Max and Fang. Put the _blind guy_ on guard duty. Real excellent brainwork, there._

Iggy was sitting very sullenly in the basement of a somewhat abandoned office building. It was only somewhat abandoned, according to Nudge, because while the building didn't have official occupants, the flock had been using it for long enough that it wasn't _completely_ abandoned. Or something like that. The rest of the flock was taking care of Angel. She'd broken her left wing, and was currently either crying into Max's lap or puking all over the place.

He was sitting at the bottom of the steps, only three yards away from a very feisty prisoner, and was doing so very sullenly because he hated being on guard duty. It was boring, Gazzy was sleeping, and he didn't have any bombs.

Or fire. Iggy liked fire.

But the biggest reason that Iggy was so sullen was one that he wasn't precisely willing to admit, and that was because he was jealous of Fang. _Fang_ got to eat the stuff Iggy had left behind and stay with Max, who was in love with him, and had the flock for company. Iggy, on the other hand, didn't get to finish his dinner, didn't get to stay with Max, who _he _loved, and had the prisoner for company. And this prisoner's company sucked.

"So are you gonna feed me or not?" came the slightly whiny, always annoying voice from three yards away. "Because I'm kind of hungry and stuff."

Iggy sighed. "No, I'm not going to feed you," he said, for the sixth time that night.

"But I'm hungry."

He ground his teeth together. And when you're a blind avian-human hybrid that has super-developed hearing, grinding your teeth hurts your ears like hell. "Look. Shut up, will you? I am not going to feed you. For the seventh time. I'm not leaving you alone to get you some food. And we don't have any more food, anyways. We ran out tonight. So unless you want to eat _me,_ I suggest you get used to being hungry."

"I dunno. Barbecue wings sound pretty good right now."

Iggy took the opportunity to throw a rock at the prisoner. "That isn't funny. Cannibal."

"I'm not a cannibal," the prisoner argued.

He opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. He got to his feet quickly and pivoted slightly, listening closely to something going on outside the walls. Sounded familiar...

"MAX!" he screamed up the stairs. "THEY'RE COMING!"

There was a small stampede, and the door burst open. "How soon?"

"They're outside the door!"

She swore quite loudly. "Iggy – I don't know where we put the key!"

To be on the safe side, they had locked the door at the top of the stairs. Meaning that Iggy was locked in with the prisoner. And the door was reinforced.

Iggy swallowed. "Leave without me."

"What?" Max sounded shocked. "No! We're not leaving you, Iggy!"

The sound of a wall splintering punctuated her sentence. He shook his head. "You need to take care of Angel. Come back for me later!"

She wanted to argue, but the breaking sounds changed her mind. Max leaned against the door for a moment. "I will come back," she said quietly. Then she thrust herself away from the door and ran back to the flock.

Iggy stood quietly at the bottom of the steps. He'd just sacrificed himself.

"What about me?"

He turned towards the prisoner, annoyed. "I don't know," he said sarcastically. "I have the feeling that they're not going to be pleased with you, either."

"Shut up." The prisoner stood. "Get me out of these."

"No." Iggy was not going to release the prisoner.

The door at the top of the stairs shattered, and Iggy stood with his face turned up towards the attackers. He would not fight them. Not this time.


	2. Out of the Mini Dungeon

**Author's Note: I am back for another chapter! In this chapter, you'll learn the secret identity of the mysterious prisoner! You'll discover new things about Iggy! You'll get very sick of my salesgirl voice!**

**But seriously: thank you to the wonderful reviewers. You make life worth living.**

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Chapter Two: Out of the Mini-Dungeon and Into the Maxi-Dungeon!

Iggy couldn't really tell, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the people who had taken him and the prisoner captive had put him in a dungeon.

Not a mini-dungeon like in the office building, either. A real dungeon – as in, stone walls and floor, dampness, barred doors and windows, mold. And shackles.

Well, it wasn't as though he was wearing the shackles. His first exploration of the cell had told him that shackles were chained into the wall. His first exploration also told him that the space was about seven feet wide and ten feet long, locked tight as a drum, had two blankets folded neatly by the cell door, and contained a hole that smelled, quite literally, like shit. Iggy had another sneaking suspicion involving the cell bathroom.

"Well, this sucks," he remarked.

"You're telling me."

Iggy was beginning to lose his patience. "Look, I don't need your crap," he growled. "It's not like I'm enjoying this."

"Coulda fooled me. You didn't even fight when they came, when they tossed you in a sack, or when they threw you in here!"

He shrugged. "Whatever. My flock is safe."

"How do you know?"

This time, Iggy snorted. "You think that they would have put the six of us in separate cells? In case you haven't noticed, this cell isn't exactly big enough for two of us, but they tossed us both in anyways."

"Whatever." The other prisoner curled up in the corner.

Iggy sat down, his back to one of the empty walls. "I have a question."

"What now?"

"Why did they put you in with me? I thought you were spying for them."

He was greeted with silence, for once. "I'm a turncoat."

"What?"

"I'm a turncoat," the prisoner snapped. "I turned on them because they wanted something I couldn't provide for them. I wanted to look out for myself for once!"

"Funny – the real Max hardly ever thinks about herself," Iggy said sarcastically.

Max II sat up, stiffening. "I'm not her," she hissed.

He rolled his eyes. "Uh, I kind of know that," he responded. "That's why I call _her_ 'the real Max' and I call you 'Max II', 'Clone-Girl', or 'hey you freak'."

"Why don't I call _you_ 'blind freak', then?" Max II snapped.

"Dunno," he said with a shrug. "Because I'm too dashingly handsome to be called freak?"

Max II made a very impatient sound and flopped back against the stone walls. They were, indeed, in a dungeon. A little odd, since neither Max II nor Iggy thought that there were too many dungeons along the west coast of the USA. "Dashingly handsome," she snorted. "That's rich."

Iggy ignored her. Again. This time, he sat down and crossed his legs. "This sucks," he murmured to himself. "I can't even stretch my wings properly." As if to prove his point, he shifted for a moment, then stretched his wings out slightly. He was as tall as Fang, and the boys had wingspans that reached more than fourteen feet.

He planned on stopping when he hit a wall, but his left wing ran into something smaller – and somewhat softer. "Yah! Hey!" Max II sputtered as she shoved Iggy's wing away. "Watch where you put those things!"

"Sorry. Can't oblige ya." He pulled his wings back in and grabbed the one that had hit Max II in the face.

The pinfeathers were sticky.

Frowning, he brushed at the long, smooth feathers with his hand, catching the stickiness with his fingers. "Did you spit on me?" he asked incredulously. Max II did not answer. He hoped that she hadn't – then again, he might have gotten his wing _in her mouth_. Gazzy did that to him once. It was definitely not fun.

Iggy brought his fingers up to his face and sniffed delicately, then flinched. It wasn't bird-kid-clone spit. It was bird-kid-clone _blood._

"You're bleeding," he said, surprised.

"Yeah," Max II responded venemously. "Surprised you didn't catch on to that sooner. My forehead's been gushing since they threw me in here. I split my head open on the wall."

Iggy cringed mentally. He knew where she was from the sound of her voice, so he walked to her, then knelt. He heard her gasp slightly from their closeness. "Hold still," he commanded, then grabbed what he hoped was her face.

His sensitive fingertips first found her cheekbones, then skimmed back towards her ears. When he felt her hair, Iggy moved his hands upwards slowly, carefully examining her temples and smoothing his fingers across her forehead until his right hand ran into something jagged and sticky.

"Found it," he murmured. Iggy ran his forefinger along the cut gently. Then he frowned. "It feels crusty."

"The wall's pretty grimy," Max II snapped.

He sighed. The next part wasn't going to be fun. "Don't move." He leaned forward, sticking out his tongue.

"Wait – what are you doing?" the girl cried, squirming.

"That gash is kind of deep. If I don't clean it up, it'll get infected, and your face is gonna fall off," he snapped back. "Not that I would mind, but I think you like your face, even if it _is_ a copy."

She couldn't argue, so she sat quietly with her eyes squeezed shut as Iggy ran his tongue along the cut on her forehead. He did it a couple of times for good measure, then crawled over towards the hole and spit a mouthful of blood and dirt into it. "Blech."

"Charming," Max II commented.

"Shut up," Iggy groaned. "It's _your_ blood I'm barfing up here. It tastes nasty."

"Most blood does." The girl pulled her legs up to her chest. "Now what?"

He thought. "Are you wearing something that you can take off?"

That earned him a swat. He yelped. "What was that for?"

"_You_, pervert!"

Iggy rolled his eyes. "I didn't want you to _strip_," he said. "I meant a jacket or sweater or something. To bandage your head with."

She fell silent. "Oh."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Iggy said, rubbing the side of his head. "I take it you don't have a sweater?"

"Nope. Just my t-shirt. And we're not using that."

He sighed. The clone had a modesty complex. Just excellent. "You know, nobody's going to see you if you take the t-shirt off."

"Maybe you won't," she retorted, "but there are _guards_, you know. And what if I bust outta here?"

He hadn't thought about that. "Well, whatever," he said. Then Iggy grabbed the bottom hem of his t-shirt and started pulling it over his head.

"What are you doing?" Max II sounded very alarmed.

"I'm giving you a show," Iggy said sarcastically. "What do you think I'm doing? You need to get bandaged up before you bleed all over the floor."

"But – but your shirt's dirty," she said helplessly as he worked the shirt off over his wings.

"Well, the inside is relatively clean," he said. "I just put it on this morning. And it was just washed then. So don't complain." Iggy got the shirt off over his head and ripped the bottom, tearing the shirt into a long strip. Carefully, he wound the strip around Max II's head, then tied the ends off.

He sat back on his heels. "How's that feel?"

"Okay." Iggy didn't know it, but Max II was studying him carefully. "Why'd you do that?"

The bird-boy stiffened. "What, you want your face to rot off?"

"No," she snapped. "I just don't get why you did it."

He frowned. "Uh – because you needed it?"

Max II fell silent again. The blonde mutant kid had just helped her out. She was very confused. "But why did you do it? I'm not your flock."

"Because it needed to be done. Duh." Iggy scooted back until he felt the wall.

"But what do you want from me?" she asked, frustrated. "I can't exactly go out and kill anybody for you, and giving you food is out of the question."

Iggy sighed. "I didn't need a reason to do it. I just helped you out a little, that's all. Okay?"

"Okay," she repeated slowly. But she was thinking very hard about one thing.

_Nobody's ever done something nice for me before. Not without wanting something from me first._


	3. Nighttime is for Napping

**Author's Note: I actually don't have much to say about this chapter, except that it's awfully short...**

**Max II: Oh noez!**

**Author: So just read, I suppose...**

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Chapter Three: Nighttime is For Napping – Or Is It?

When he couldn't find anything else to do, Iggy settled on the cell floor somewhere near Max II. "Why isn't anything happening?"

She sighed. "Because it's nighttime, and the guards know that we're secured in our cell, that's why."

Iggy was not happy with the proceedings as such. "It isn't nighttime. How do you know it's nighttime?"

"Because it's dark outside, and because I just heard the night-shift guards come on."

He sighed. Sometimes, it was very inconvenient to lack vision. "How's your cracked skull feeling?"

"Ha-ha. You really slay me. Maybe you should forget this bird-kid mutant thing and go for stand-up comedy."

"I would," he agreed, "if I could get out of this dungeon."

"How do you know it's a dungeon?"

Iggy snorted. "How could it not be a dungeon? It's made out of rock, there's a hole in the corner that smells like crap, and there are _shackles._ What's not dungeon-y about that?"

"True," Max II muttered.

"Seriously," he said, scooting towards the sound of her voice, "how's your head? Are you feeling any dizziness? Nausea? Your vision out of whack?"

"Forget what I said about stand-up comedy," she said. "You're sounding like a doctor. Why the heck are you asking about all that?"

He held his head in his hands. "If you have a concussion, there might be a problem."

"Concussions usually are problematic."

"Do you have a problem with me?" Iggy demanded, his patience snapping. "I am _trying_ to help. I am _trying_ to take care of you. Can you please take my questions seriously and stop acting like I'm an idiot?"

Max II was quiet for a minute. "I don't understand why you're doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Being – nice." She leaned her head back against the wall. She hadn't moved from her spot sitting against the wall all day. "You're usually not nice."

He frowned. "You act like you're around me all the time to know that."

She laughed bitterly. "Well. From what I've observed."

Iggy sighed again, softly. "Look, I already told you – I'm doing what needs to be done. You need to be taken care of, or you'll die."

"That's just it," she snapped. "What does it matter to you?"

He was quiet for a moment after her outburst. Somewhere in the dungeon, something was dripping. "I don't want you to die."

"What?"

"I don't want you to die," he repeated. "If I can prevent you from dying, then I will. It may not make sense to you, but that's what Max calls our 'human side'. Our ninety-eight percent. It makes us care about saving a life when it's possible."

Max II fumbled for words. "Well – well, that's great for you and everything, but it's not like we're all ninety-eight percent human!"

Iggy sighed. "Your DNA looks exactly like Max's."

She grimaced. She'd forgotten about that. "Well – whatever," she finally said. "It's not like I care what you care about. Do whatever you want. Stupid blind mutant bird freak."

"Hey."

Max II glanced over at Iggy. He was, in his own eerie way, looking straight at her with those sightless eyes. "I may be a blind mutant bird freak," he said, "but I'm not stupid."

She was glad that he couldn't see her blushing. She was oh for two.

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**Okay, guys, I know it's seeming a little... slow... but I promise things will pick up. Soon.**


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